


A Flicker of Flame (I walk the plank, not a tear in my eye)

by violent_ends



Series: Devil, Devil [4]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Collars, Dom Chloe Decker, Dom/sub, Established Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, F/M, Femdom, Fuckruary 2020 (Lucifer TV), Handcuffs, Leather Kink, Light Dom/sub, Monster sex, Post-Season/Series 04, Sexual Content, Smut, Sub Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), fireplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 13:23:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22883197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violent_ends/pseuds/violent_ends
Summary: He is a subject before her, a worshipper of her naked form, as if she was a goddess of bounty and fertility, or a cruel deity to please with sacrifices in the hopes of placating her wrath.She might as well be, from the way he’s looking at her.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Series: Devil, Devil [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1619773
Comments: 38
Kudos: 275





	A Flicker of Flame (I walk the plank, not a tear in my eye)

**Author's Note:**

> In this last installment, Chloe and Lucifer spontaneously engage in a light dom/sub dynamic _without_ a safe word, but it doesn’t mean I advise it or recommend it. Without further ado, enjoy, my deviant readers!
> 
> Sugar prompt #16 leather + Spice prompts: #12 monster sex, #22 fireplay & #24 dom/sub

“Could you get me the dark purple one, please, darling? Should be on the left," Lucifer calls from the bathroom as he gets ready for the day. Chloe is already done, since he takes longer than her, which isn’t exactly a surprise: that hair and beard always looked like they require _a lot_ of work, and now she gets to see the behind the scenes too, not just the main show. It should be tedious, but she kinda likes it, likes to witness and be a part of the little habits and secret rituals that make him who he is.

She walks to his closet and opens the doors of his shirt compartment. The garments sway under her fingertips as she skims them along the hanging fabrics – color-sorted, of course. The shade changes from white to light to deep blue, then switches to different tones of green and purple and ends with the black ones. The other side is reserved to warmer colors like shades of red, pink, orange and brown.

Chloe picks up the shirt she _thinks_ he means, the darkest of the purple ones before the black shirts begin. They are not many (his taste has changed over the years, she has noticed, to brighter and bolder ensembles than the ones he used to wear when they started working together), so it’s easy to notice a different kind of black material at the very end of the cabinet, thicker and almost gleaming under the light coming in from the windows.

Leather.

The visible shoulder pad bulges from the hanger, standing out from the stream of flat, soft fabric that precedes it to spread all the way to the other side of the closet. Chloe holds the hanger with the purple shirt with one hand and slips the other one between the leather and the first black shirt next to it. The movement reveals a broad, tight, long-sleeved jacket held together by small straps all along one side that almost make it look like something you would force a patient of a mental hospital into.

She realizes with a soft gasp that it’s the attire Lucifer was wearing when he came back. At the time, she didn’t focus on it all that much, too concentrated on the panicked look on his face, on the blood on his wings. The darkness of the leather probably concealed how much more of it he had on him. But now it’s clean, and thick, and tight and… pants. She also remembers pants.

Chloe swallows at the mental image of Lucifer _entirely_ clad in black leather. Her throat feels dry as she pictures the broadness of his shoulders – so, so much broader than before – constricted by the tight-fitting, squeaky material; as she imagines the lines of his chest and arms highlighted and perfectly hugged by this weird but somehow absolutely believable mix between medieval battle uniform and sex dungeon go-to outfit.

And between her legs, a familiar tingle zaps through her at the thought of leather-clad, masculine hips, front and back bulging as the muscles get squeezed by the material with every step and movement, every shift and flinch. Lucifer’s limbs, all long and taut when he leans or slumps against flat surfaces like he owns them, become sharper and more pronounced in her mind, stubble and hair even darker to match the leather, eyes ablaze with hellfire and a whip in his-

“Detective, dear, what’s taking you so long?”

Lucifer’s voice startles her, snapping her out of her lustful, inappropriate daydreaming. She turns around to see him emerging from the bathroom with a white towel wrapped around his hips, body freshly clean from the shower, stubble trimmed with precision and hair straightened and styled in its usual, elegant wave. Lucifer arches an eyebrow at her, taking in her wide eyes and the guilty expression she knows sits plainly on her face.

“What were you looking at?” he asks as he approaches, reaching her in a few long strides.

“Nothing!” Chloe replies quickly, probably _too_ quickly. She’s good at keeping a straight face while toying with suspects to trick them into admitting their fault, but she hates lying to him, even about something as small as this. Somehow, she has the feeling he wouldn’t take it well.

Lucifer accepts the shirt Chloe hands him, but his eyes linger on the far corner of the closet, his features hardening. His jaw works soundlessly around words that never come. What he settles for is a stiff, quite unconvincing “Thank you" before he puts his shirt on and goes hunting for a pair of pants while buttoning it up. Chloe has half a mind to slam her head against the closet door.

He’s quiet after that, during the ride to the precinct and the rundown about the new case of the day, only speaking when directly addressed by her. Then, while they’re in her car again to go to the assigned crime scene, he finally asks, “Why were you looking at it?”

Chloe glances at him from the driver seat to find him staring out the window, as out of place as he could ever be in his sort-of-shiny midnight blue suit. But somehow, more than usual today.

“Lucifer, I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to-"

“I'm not mad,” he cuts her off, “I just… want to know why, is all.”

The sentiment seems genuine. It will probably shift to anger once Lucifer finds out how shallow the reason is, but Chloe hopes he’ll appreciate her honesty.

“I, uhm… I was imagining it. On you," she says slowly, glancing at him as much as she can while driving. Lucifer looks at her in turn out of the corner of his eye, his brow furrowed.

“You saw it on me. When I came back,” he says, with no particular inflection to the sentence.

Chloe swallows, heat rising to her cheeks. Well, out with it.

“I didn’t focus on it that much back then," she explains, shrugging nonchalantly, or trying to. “So I was taking my time to… picture it. And it was, well… hot.”

When she turns toward him again, Lucifer is staring at her intently, both his eyebrows raised. He doesn’t seem angry, which is a good thing. Unexpectedly, he looks… intrigued. Flattered, even.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_,” Chloe parrots, followed by a nervous chuckle. “Listen, can we just… forget it happened? I promise I won’t go snooping around again. Not that I was, my eyes just fell on it and-"

“Detective,” Lucifer interrupts her softly, a little glint in his warm brown eyes, “of course I'll wear it for you.”

It’s not like she asked him, exactly, but… oh. _Oh._

“You mean…?”

“Mh-mh," he singsongs, wiggling his eyebrows seductively. “Might as well use it for something fun, since I kept it. Well, anything is more fun than fighting an army of bloody demons, but you get the idea.”

“I- yeah, I do," Chloe stutters. She always gets a bit overwhelmed, when he drops little details about… Hell. About the time he was not with her. About the time he was alone and far away. About the time she thought she’d never see him again. It’s Linda’s domain, and in part, Chloe likes it that way.

“Lovely," Lucifer concludes, before effortlessly leading the conversation back to the homicide they have to solve, as if they didn’t just make plans to have sex because Chloe is apparently horny for the King of Hell.

He doesn’t bring up specifics though, and Chloe decides not to push for a date or a time or… anything, really. She’s just glad Lucifer didn’t feel offended or violated by her curiosity, and all she needs to be content is his good mood, their usual banter throughout the day, their kiss goodnight when she leaves him at Lux and goes home, where Dan will drop Trixie off after a weekend of father-daughter bonding via camping.

A week goes by. On Friday night, Chloe is once again relieved of her motherly duties by her (now) very punctual ex husband, and Lucifer seems to be very aware of that. They came to work separately in the morning, and he decides to leave early, as he usually does to skip the boredom of paperwork unless he’s literally dependant on Chloe to get him home.

“I'll see you at the penthouse, love," he says – a word he throws at bubbly forensic scientists and overly cheery rookies as they accept donuts and coffee cups from him, but that sounds different, somehow, when directed at her.

Chloe tries not to read too much into the spark she thinks she sees in his eyes, before he turns around and leaves the bullpen, slowly disappearing as he walks up the steps. And she tries not to shake with nervous excitement in the car, once she’s on the road and on her way to meet him again one hour later.

She calls his name as soon as she steps out of the elevator, scanning the place for any sign of him and not-so-secretly looking for things she thought he might want to try with her: instruments and harnesses that might as well have been made for torture but that she’s _sure_ he knows how to make the best use of, if his skills in tying her up are anything to go by. They haven't done anything extreme so far, but Chloe trusts him, and there is a part of her that yearns for the dominating side of him, for those bone-chilling, fear-inducing shows of strength that would (and did) make demons bow down and cower before him.

The penthouse is as it's always been, but Lucifer, once he appears from the bedroom, isn’t.

How did Chloe not notice _scales_, before? They cover his shoulders and the top part of his chest before seamlessly fusing with the leather that hugs his torso, crawling up his neck and morphing into a high, rigid collar that emphasizes the sharpness of his jawline, the regal quality of his features, the thickness of his stubble. He walks toward her with his hands behind his back and his chin high, and he has _boots_ on top of the pants, almost knee-high, with straps that mirror the ones along his side.

The leather is more of a matte black, if she had to pinpoint it, instead of overly shiny; and it looks thicker than the one usually employed for sexy outfits, sturdier, stronger, because it was made to withstand something much crueler than a detective's eager fingers. It was made for battle. It was made for a king.

Chloe feels ridiculously mundane in her blouse and jeans, as she drops her bag to the floor where she stands, almost in a trance. Lucifer finally stops in front of her and tilts his head to the side, studying the flush in her cheeks and – probably, _somehow_ – reveling in the heat he must know is pooling low inside of her already.

And yet, he doesn’t tease her as Chloe might have expected: there is no _Like what you see, Detective?_ uttered with his usual, playful glee. Lucifer has always been surprising – an understatement if ever there was one –, and this moment is no exception. He looks… uncertain. He is the most breathtaking being Chloe has ever seen in her life, and he’s _insecure_.

“You’re beautiful,” she tells him, realizing she doesn’t really tell him all that much. It’s not like he doesn’t know it (one could say he’s entirely too aware of it), but maybe, maybe he needs to hear it from her more often. Maybe he needs it to mean _more_, and Chloe does mean more, when she says it.

He does that little half-smile, half-chuckle thing that makes his eyes crinkle, then finally moves his hands from behind his back to show them to her. The leather hugs his arms all the way to his wrists, where it ends in a thick, almost metallic-looking cuff, but Chloe doesn’t have time to focus on it for too long because of what Lucifer is offering to her, silently waiting for a reaction.

She stares at the collar for a long moment, following the lines of the chain attached to it and wrapped around one side so it doesn’t dangle in his grasp.

“Is that… for me?” she asks tentatively, concealing a secret thrill of excitement at the thought, but Lucifer shakes his head.

“No," he simply says, his voice raspy and raw, conveying such openness and vulnerability in that simple word that Chloe feels almost slapped by the force of it. She takes the collar from his hands and looks into his eyes, finding a silent plea in them.

_Own me. Use me. Make me yours._

Now, Chloe Decker, Detective Nobody of the LAPD, literally has no idea what she’s doing, no clue about how this sort of dynamic really works, no right assuming she can make a slave out of the Devil himself. But he’s the one asking, although not in too many words. And Chloe finds that, despite her most recent fantasies, this one works just as well.

She reaches up and fastens the leather circle around Lucifer’s neck, tight enough to make it fit snugly over the scaled collar of the jacket. The chain hangs from under his chin, and she takes a moment to feel it in her palm from the top hook all the way to the last ring before gripping it and wrapping it multiple times around her hand.

The simple gesture makes her aware of how much power she holds in this moment, over him. More than she usually does. She could hurt him, physically and emotionally, more than anyone else, yet he’s letting her chain him like this, leaving her in charge of everything, of him. Of course, he can free himself pretty easily, but if anything it makes it even more significant, showing her how much he needs it.

And… Chloe gets it, she thinks. How exhausting it must have been to be in control all the time, down there. Maybe that’s what this is about. Dressing as the king he is, the ruler he is, but letting someone else take the lead for once. It’s the same feeling she gets sometimes, after acting tough and stern the whole day: the urge for someone else to tell her, quite simply, what to do. The eagerness to, quite simply, do it.

She tugs at the chain to bring Lucifer’s face down in front of hers, surprising him. Lucifer gasps and hunches with the motion, his eyes suddenly darker. Chloe raises herself on her toes and kisses him roughly on the lips, slipping her tongue inside the moment they open for her. She can feel Lucifer’s throat spasm from the pull of the chain as she holds him in place.

She sucks at his lower lip for a moment before pulling back, already faintly throbbing between her legs. It feels exhilarating, and she grows bolder and surer of herself by the second. She can do this. She can give him what he needs. She can claim him, if it’s what he wants.

She’s Chloe Decker, and the Devil has entrusted her with his heart. There is nothing she can’t do. Nothing she _wouldn’t_ do, for him.

“Undress me," she orders, loosening her hold on the chain so he can move freely for the task. “And don’t talk unless I tell you to.”

Lucifer swallows visibly at the prohibition: if there’s one thing he likes, it’s talking, but his prominent emotion doesn’t seem to be annoyance. Chloe can tell when he’s aroused, and he is.

He unbuttons her blouse and peels it off her shoulders and arms, helped by the way Chloe moves the chain from one hand to the other to allow him to get rid of the piece of clothing. Then he reaches around her, unclasps her bra and slips it off of her, letting it fall to the floor as well. His hands wander to her breasts almost with a will of their own, cupping them from the sides, but Chloe reprimands him with a pull of the chain.

“I didn’t say you could touch.”

A little smile tugs at the corner of his lips – _You’re getting the hang of this, Detective,_ she can almost hear him say, but as instructed, he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t break eye-contact with her as he slowly kneels before her, only then focusing his gaze on her shoes to remove them, together with her socks. Once Chloe’s jeans and underwear are gone, too, she stands naked before his completely covered body, yet she feels totally, entirely in control.

Lucifer makes to stand up, and part of her wonders if he’s taking the initiative on purpose so she can boss him around even more. It wouldn’t surprise her at all, given the turn the night has taken.

“Stay on your knees," she says sternly, and Lucifer does so immediately, staring up at her expectantly. He is a subject before her, a worshipper of her naked form, as if she was a goddess of bounty and fertility, or a cruel deity to please with sacrifices in the hopes of placating her wrath.

She might as well be, from the way he’s looking at her.

Chloe lets the chain pass between her slightly parted legs with one hand and retrieves it from behind her with the other, so that it doesn’t stand between them anymore.

“Make me come," she commands, yanking at the chain so hard that Lucifer slides forward on his knees (or, well, lets himself slide – it’s unclear how easy it is for him to just switch his abnormal strength off). Either way he does, letting out a groan of what sounds like relief, before sinking into her tongue-first as his hands part her thighs expertly to better settle between them on the floor.

Chloe doesn’t need to keep the chain taut from behind her for him to remain close: there is nowhere else Lucifer would rather be (his own words). But she gets an additional rush from doing it, especially coupled with how possessively she finds herself burying her free hand in his hair, hooking her nails into his scalp as he licks into her, making her eyes roll back in her head.

They moan at the same time, then Chloe’s noises turn to desperate mewls and whimpers as she starts rocking her hips against Lucifer’s face. And he keeps up, as he always does, falling into a rhythm with her and urging her forward with one hand squeezing her ass.

One.

“Don’t- don’t touch yourself," Chloe blurts out, and she was right, because Lucifer lets out a growl of frustration at the words before his other hand magically reappears on her skin, settling on her backside as well. She feels too mean for a moment, but he put her in charge and she owes this to him: she’ll lay down the law, she’ll show him she’s strong enough to tame the king he is.

And she’ll tell him, in detail, exactly what he does to her.

“I love it when you fuck me with your mouth," she keens, earning herself a beautiful, sinful whine from between her legs. “Your tongue inside me- Lucifer, there is nothing like it. You’re so good to me, so good _for_ me. Such a… good boy. You look so pretty on your knees.”

She sighs around the words, pressing and pulling him closer for emphasis. The praising comes easily to her, even though she never really pictured herself saying such things; they might even sound ridiculous, if she replayed them in her head, yet they fall naturally from her lips.

Lucifer seems to enjoy hearing them as much as Chloe likes saying them, moaning brokenly as he starts to suck around her after every deep, wet thrust of his tongue. His nails dig harder into her skin as she uses him to chase her own pleasure, bending her knees slightly to gain leverage in the absence of anything to hold on to, wild and frantic as Lucifer gets her off in the middle of the room.

The penthouse’s questionable level of security means anyone could come in and find them like this, and everyday, sensible, rule-abiding Chloe would flush bright red and stutter something unintelligible before running for cover behind a wall. But _this_ Chloe, the Chloe _he_ needs, thinks _Let everyone see, let everyone_ know _he belongs to me and no one else._

“Make me come, Lucifer," she urges once again. “_Now._”

One hand leaves her skin to answer her call: Lucifer knows exactly what she means, what she wants. He sucks at her clit as two fingers press into her to crook and rub expertly, the coldness of his ring contrasting beautifully with her warmth. He draws a long, loud, almost painful orgasm out of her with his lips and his hand, rolling his hips up into empty space to the rhythm of her own as she sways and trembles against him, gripping his hair almost viciously.

Chloe releases him slowly, staring down at him with heavy-lidded eyes as she moves the chain to her front again, letting it slip from between her legs before getting a hold of it again. Lucifer pulls away with an open-mouthed kiss to her folds, slipping his fingers out only to suck them into his mouth and groan at the taste of her sex, closing his eyes in absolute bliss. She made a mess of his hair, giving him almost a battle-weary appearance, but the ruffled, curling locks make him look younger, too, a princeling eager to go to war and prove his worth.

She can’t help but lift his chin with one hand to look at him properly, brushing her thumb over and around his wet lips to clean him up. A quick glance south makes her aware of how hard he is, straining against the front of his leather pants, the fabric pulled tight, probably uncomfortably so, as he remains on his knees for her until she says otherwise. Yet his eyes are not begging her: the lust in them is still eager to please her, instead of asking to be pleased. But Chloe is not that selfish.

“Do _you_ want to come?” she asks, pressing her thumb past his lips so he can taste what is left. “You can speak from now on.”

Lucifer sucks on her thumb diligently, then stares up at her with that kind of adoration that makes Chloe’s knees buckle. It’s impossible to fathom, but he’s never looked more gorgeous than in this moment, a deity praying to a mortal, the Devil offering his own soul for nothing but love and care in return.

His voice is rough when he eventually replies; it feels as if he hasn’t spoken in ages. “Only if it’s what you desire,” he says, his hands gripping the sides of his thighs to fight the urge to touch himself. Because she told him not to. Because he’s behaving for her, _obeying_ to her – and God, isn’t it a thrill to be obeyed by the most rebellious of the angels of Heaven.

“It is,” Chloe tells him, because that mouth alone deserves a reward. “Stand up and follow me.”

The walk to the bedroom feels slightly awkward, as Lucifer trails behind her like a dog, but it ends quickly enough. Chloe drags him to the foot of the bed and starts undressing him silently, but not before taking a moment to run her hands over his leather-covered chest, arms, back, neck. Oh, the teasing she would hear if Lucifer wasn’t feeling so submissive today. Something tells her he'll make up for it with an endless stream of jokes in the days to come.

Chloe removes the collar from his neck and leaves it on the bed before slowly making her way down the straps on the side. There is something incredibly arousing in freeing his muscles and skin from these tight restraints, in watching his chest expand at the sudden lack of pressure. Once the jacket is off, she kneels to get rid of his boots, feeling like a courtesan taking care of her lover after a day spent riding or fighting; the act ancient and reverent as very few are, these days.

She peels off his pants and can’t help but lean in for a moment to plant a tender, lingering kiss to the side of his stiff cock, smiling against him as he shudders above her and under her lips. Then she stands up and leaves him there for a moment, to go fetch what she’ll need next from his extensive supply.

The metal handcuffs she locks around his wrists, binding them behind his back, are covered in leather too. Chloe doesn’t fasten them too tightly, leaving more empty space than necessary: Lucifer could probably shake them off if he wanted, and she can see he's puzzled by the choice once she circles back around him. But he doesn’t speak, despite being allowed to again, and he'll understand soon enough, anyway.

“Sit on the edge of the bed,” she orders. Lucifer immediately complies.

Chloe climbs on top of him right away, bracing herself with her hands on his shoulders, her hips hovering above where Lucifer desperately wants her to sink down. She teases him then, teases _herself_, her center brushing over the tip of his shaft until he squirms and bucks up with a groan, the muscles of his arms straining as he forces himself to respect the boundary she set for him.

“Is this what you want?” Chloe asks, finally lowering herself on him inch by inch, maddeningly slow and torturous. “Tell me what you want, Lucifer.”

His usual, shameless self comes back to the surface as he looks her in the eye and says, “I want you to ride me for as long as you like, and exactly the way you like it.”

“Mm, good,” Chloe sighs, engulfing him completely in her heat and settling fully and snugly on top of him. She yanks Lucifer’s head back by his hair and kisses him as she starts to move, rolling her hips in a languid motion that shows how _not_ in a rush she is.

Lucifer moans in her mouth, sounding mildly frustrated: his hands would be all over her now, holding up her breasts to play with them or squeezing her ass to press her harder into him. So Chloe does the work for both of them, rocking against him, teasing and rubbing her own nipples, then giving in to his pleading look and letting him suckle at each of them in turn for a while.

He looks far gone, gone someplace that doesn’t abide to the rules of reason but solely follows instinct and primal desire, his rugged breath heating up the skin of Chloe’s cheek where she’s keeping his face pressed against her own. She hopes that whatever memory was tied to his leather garments is behind him now, replaced by this one. But she got an idea, before, and she intends to go through with it.

“Show me," she tells him suddenly, cupping his cheeks in her hands. And when he doesn’t seem to understand, “Show me all of you, Lucifer. Right now.”

His eyes widen, panicking, and Chloe realizes that she’s not sure of what should happen if he says no to something she demands. Does he expect to be… punished? How does this… this _stuff_ even work? She doesn’t want to force him. Carried by the spur of the moment, they didn’t even pick a safeword or a signal, something for him to voice his discomfort, to let her know she pushed too far. So, a clarification will have to do, as “out of character" as it might be.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” she rushes to explain, soothing his worry with her thumbs, “but I'm telling you that _I_ want you to. That you _can_.”

He swallows a few times, studying her, then, “You promise it won’t scare you?” he whispers.

He sounds so small, so fragile. Chloe kisses him, because she can’t allow it. They’ve had sex with his Devil wings out in the open, or his Devil eyes burning for her, but what she’s asking is different and she knows it. Yet it’s what he needs, even if he might not realize it himself. It’s time for her to show him she can handle more than the touch of a feather.

“I told you, I'm not scared of you anymore," she says once she pulls back, drowning in the brightness of his smile, in the softness in his eyes.

That’s why it’s still kind of jarring, to see them change under her gaze, to witness the transformation of his body as if in slow motion. It grows hotter under her palms, hotter _inside of her_, making her wince for an uncomfortable moment as she adjusts to the different texture and thickness between her legs.

“You alright?” Lucifer whispers in a worried tone, stilling his movements. Chloe cradles his now bald head in her hands and presses her forehead against his, breathing through her nose as she nods silently.

Bat-like wings spread wide from behind Lucifer’s back, above where his wrists still seem to be handcuffed, thanks to the space Chloe left for them to fill and grow into. But it turns out that she didn’t think this through, because oddly enough, she craves his hands on her more than anything now, ridges and burns and everything that comes with them.

“Touch me. Please,” she begs more than commands, dominating façade cracking like Lucifer’s alabaster skin under an onslaught of fiery red.

It’s easy to wonder, in this moment, how she could have ever been scared of him, to beat herself up about the choices she made from the instant she first saw this face. It’s almost shocking, if she looks at herself from the outside, to compare who she was then to who she is now, but at the end of the day Lucifer has been changing her life, changing _her_, since the moment they met. And it all led to this, to them together, stripped bare in all the ways they can be, of their clothes and fears, and in Lucifer's case, of his very skin.

Lucifer breaks the handcuffs with a snap and brings his arms to his sides, hesitating for a few seconds before cupping her cheeks. He skims red, monstrous hands down her shoulders and arms before settling them on her hips, way more delicately than anyone would expect. His leathery wings, almost a reminder of his hellish attire, curl around them as he tentatively moves inside her again, studying her reaction to try and figure out if he can. Chloe meets his little thrust with a roll of her hips as pleasure sparks inside her once more, soothing the now receding pain.

Everything is different, once they pick up the pace: different in the way he feels inside, different in the new places she has to discover to get a good grip, trading his hair for the spikes on his back to wrap one hand around. The other memorizes him all over again, mapping the exaggerated hollow of his protruding collarbones, the thick, bulging lines of his neck, the uneven dips and crevices that make up his broader chest. She has a harder time straddling him now that her legs have to spread even more to accommodate him, but she also has a larger expanse of skin to get leverage from.

Kissing him is different, too, his lips drier and rougher against hers, with no stubble to tickle her cheek when she trails kisses down his jaw. He tastes of iron and sulphur with a coppery, blood-tasting undertone, as if she’s kissing raw muscle wrapped around bone. But under the red, under the flames in his eyes, she sees _him_, and making love to the Devil, more than fucking him, comes incredibly easy.

Emboldened by Chloe’s abandon, Lucifer trails one rough hand from her hip to her lower back to press her closer, his palm flat to avoid hooking longer, sharper nails into her flesh. Even so, Chloe feels a sudden jolt of pain zap through her from the new point of contact, which at the same time causes her inner muscles to spasm in a very… very interesting, not at all painful way.

“Sorry!” Lucifer yelps, removing the hand in question from her back to lift it up between them. “I guess I got, well… carried away, shall we say?”

Oh, and very much so. There is fire, literal _fire_ crackling from multiple points across the skin of his hand, over the lines of his palm, his knuckles, the tips of his fingertips. Chloe gapes at it, fascinated and probably less worried than she should be.

“I'll just…” Lucifer trails off, then a patch of pink skin appears and spreads from the middle of his chest as he tries to resume his ordinary appearance.

“No, it’s okay," Chloe stops him, placing her own hand on the interested area, which immediately reverts back to red. “Touch me again. I kinda liked it.”

He frowns. “Chloe-"

“I trust you," she reassures him, with her words and with a kiss. He still looks at her like she’s crazy, when he pulls back, and maybe she is. But then his gaze softens, and suddenly he looks almost grateful to her.

The Devil, literal, Biblical, as real as he can be with his clawed, nightmarish wings, gently gathers her hair on one of her shoulders to leave her back exposed, using the hand that isn’t currently on fire. Then, with the burning one, he starts following the line of her spine from her neck to her lower back: he doesn’t actually touch her like she said, but Chloe doesn’t feel like reprimanding him because the heat is warm and gentle and pleasant this time, causing a full-body shudder as she throws her head back and moans at the sensation.

“Do it again," she gasps, clenching around him so hard that he growls in response, the sound more animalistic than human. Lucifer complies not once but many times, trailing his hand up and down as he thrusts into her. His fingers inch closer every time, randomly tapping at a vertebra to make her squirm, but the contact is never long enough for the pain to linger.

The skin of his body starts to heat up in response to her moans and whimpers as they rise in pitch, from his chest all the way to where he’s buried between her legs, literally warming her up from the inside. A part of her, the one she clearly left home for the night, warns her about very unpleasant burns, both external and internal, but the temperature stays fixed at a manageable degree and she finds herself adjusting to the added warmth.

Weak flames dance along Lucifer’s cheekbones when she pulls back from a particularly filthy kiss, looking like the last glowing embers of a fireplace right before they become charred and black and dead. He’s coming undone, but Chloe trusts he won’t allow himself to hurt her. He told her to have her way with him for as long as she likes, and she has, and she’s so, so close. But she also told him that it was her desire to see him come, and she has the feeling he’s holding himself back.

“Let go, Lucifer," she says, hoping it sounds like a command, the last one for the night. “Let go, let go, let _go_.”  
  
He does, because he’s quite simply unable to deny her anything, and Chloe has never felt more powerful but also aware of the responsibility she has: the Devil is hers to hurt, and she will _never_ take advantage of it again. Lucifer buries his face in the crook of her neck, wrapping both of his arms and wings around her and engulfing her in a cocoon of mounting heat. Chloe is sweating as if she was in a sauna, her slippery, shiny skin in ridiculous contrast with his.

“_Chloe,_” is all he says as he comes, a broken prayer from someone who stopped praying long ago, and it’s enough for her to follow, clenching around him, whimpering as she clings to this form, to _him_ in whatever way she can get him; he is _hers_ more than he ever was of Heaven, more than he ever was of God – such blasphemy in the notion, and such sweet, sweet relief.

In the fog of the aftermath, she doesn’t even register Lucifer’s skin turning pink and human again, or him pulling out and guiding her to lie down on her stomach. All she knows is that he must have also stood up for a moment, because now he’s applying what smells like aloe vera or some kind of hydrating lotion all along her back, where he touched her with flames not of this world.

He shouldn’t worry about it though. When it comes to him, she is fireproof.

Chloe smiles contentedly into the pillow, and lets him do it anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> And that’s a wrap on my Deckerstar Fuckruary series, folks! I hope I went out with a bang, and in a good way. But just FYI, even though this series is done, I still have one more fic to post, an AU that isn’t connected to this verse. So, watch out! ;)
> 
> Update: check out this [fanart](https://ustimojan.tumblr.com/post/613613536817643520/lucifer-stay-good-devil-i-couldnt-draw-all) inspired by this story, by the amazing artist UstimoJan!


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